When my father joined the Israel Defense Forces, shortly after the sate was founded, my grandfather put his hands on him and recited the Priestly Blessing: "May God bless you and guard you, May God make his face shed light upon you and be gracious unto you, May God lift up his face unto you and give you peace." Finally, he added another blessing, the Shehecheyanu, which is among those blessings that exalt God's name and recognize his kingship. He thanked God for giving them life, sustaining them, and enabling them to reach this occasion. This week my daughter donned her IDF uniform for the first time. When I dropped her off at the induction center, I looked around to see if there were other parents who did what my grandfather did. But there were barely any who performed that ritual. It appears that joining the IDF has become just another rite of passage that merits no special send-off. Like many other aspects of this country, it has become part and parcel of who we are: the thriving agriculture on the Golan Heights, in the Arava and in the Jordan Valley; the booming high tech industry; the new heights reached in the world of Torah study; the translation of Hebrew works into numerous languages; the prize-winning Israeli films, and the High Court of Justice, whose rulings are celebrated and studied all over the world. I am baffled by the collective shrug with which Israelis react to the news that another Israeli won the Nobel Prize, or the Fields Medal, or some other prestigious award, even as they lament the dire state of our cultural life, education and scientific community. Perhaps the only thing that gets us somewhat excited are sporting events that involve Israelis. Those who are not familiar with Israeli life mighty think our country was as big as Egypt or Argentina, or even bigger, rather than just a tiny speck on the map. As the song goes, "A small country, whose address is unlisted, is neatly tucked in a box." The cartoon character Srulik, the quintessential Israeli that we all love, no longer wears the traditional "idiot hat" -- he has shed his naivete and is now a sneaky and cynical Israeli trickster who masterfully games the system. The curls parted in the middle have given way to a balding scalp and a big belly; he now holds cookouts on green median strips whose flora has somehow stayed green despite drought. He and the figure next to him are now obscured by the fumes coming out of the grill. Likewise, the girls no longer have ponytails and wear jumper dresses like they did in the classic Israelis song from the early years of the state. Today they wear crop tops that show a lot. They no longer hold the traditional Arab knife, the shabaria, as the song laments. They might occasionally encounter such a knife in a weekend pub brawl. Singer-songwriter Arik Einstein, in his amazing voice, sang "They say things were great before we arrived, everything was simple until we were born." Perhaps, but things are not as bad as they are made out to be. We should try to see through all the doom and gloom being spread on the media airwaves. The late Dr. Zerach Warhaftig, who was among the signers of the Declaration of Independence in 1948, was once asked whether the state -- some 50 years later after the historic proclamation -- had accomplished its goals. Warhaftig had seen a lot over his lifetime: the destruction and horror of the Holocaust, the bereavement and orphanhood that followed the founding of the state and the rejuvenated Jewish polity. But Warhaftig had a ready-made answer: "We achieved much less than what we hoped for; but much more than what we anticipated." Lyricist Yoram Taharlev once wrote: "The 20-year-old girls go out dancing, they have to go hunting for husbands, and those who fail to hunt on time, will stay old and single." Well, the State of Israel is no longer single, it is just divorced with children. True, Israel doesn't go dancing too often, because the legs are not as strong, but they hold the body just fine when it needs to go uphill and its partner is nowhere to be seen. It takes two to tango. But Bashir does not want to waltz, or perform any other dance with us. Pictures of IDF major generals no longer decorate our porches; senior police officers have formed a lineup of potential suspects because of their alleged crimes. As the Bible says, "The strength of Israel will not lie," (1 Samuel 15:29), although Israelis may occasionally evade taxes and plant evidence here and there. The State of Israel moves back and forth between two states. It oscillates between being a "land that devours its own" and just a "land that devours calories and trans fats"; between the pita wraps and the fistfights; between Judenstaat and the Yiddish shtetl; between the emergency room and the recovery room; between the cardiology ward and the intensive care unit. When good news breaks, people are ecstatic and take to the streets to celebrate. We still have a ghetto mentality. People reach stardom only to crash and burn like a meteorite. Rather than serving as light unto the nations, a lighthouse, we built a power plant. We are a manpower agency that has a lot of power but no humanity; we celebrate aggressiveness, might, cynicism, rudeness and chutzpah. We used to be a welfare state, but now everyone is focused on their own benefits. We have socio-economic disparities, labor migrants, corruption, pollution and waste, failed leadership, racism and discrimination. What's left of the Ten Commandments are "I am" and "Thou shall not have." Having said all that, lights are flickering and they glow with great intensity. It is much brighter than what we think, bright enough to eclipse the darkness. This country is a spiritual, cultural and scientific endeavor that has become a source of envy for the rest of the world. We have great manufacturers, exemplary farmers, and our construction projects are proceeding with the intensity of a samba dancer. We have a robust military force and a glorious judiciary, and we know how to show solidarity. We are no longer the primitive country we used to be. We are the hotbed for Nobel laureates. When our prophets tried to tell the people what redemption would look like, they preferred to forgo glaring attributes. Instead, they painted a very simple picture. "There shall yet old men and old women sit in the broad places of Jerusalem," Zechariah said, and he wasn't referring to people whose survivor benefits could not pay their mortgage. "And the broad places of the city shall be full of boys and girls playing in the broad places thereof," he added, which, in our day and era might express hope to see children be able go outside without worrying about molesters. "The voice of joy and the voice of gladness, the voice of the bridegroom and the voice of the bride, the voice of them that say: 'Give thanks to God,'" Jeremiah says. But our rabbis prefer to recite the words, "The joyful cries of grooms from their wedding canopies and young people from their celebrations." Foolish young teenagers who somehow emerge in one piece and full of joy from the hectic celebrations of Independence Day are the real manifestation of the redemption and self-sustenance celebrated on Independence Day. Our sages knew that the best kind of happiness is the joy you derive from a normal life. You don't need to eye-popping wealth. You don't need fireworks or lightning, just a normal routine that may have moments of sadness and bereavement but many more hours of joy and satisfaction, love and tranquility. Happy Independence Day.
